


Do I Go Home Today?

by SilverBlaze85



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Euthanasia, Feels, Gen, I'm Going to Hell, I'm Sorry, Post Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 00:08:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1074672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBlaze85/pseuds/SilverBlaze85
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his heart, Herc has known this was coming. Max isn’t a young dog anymore, hasn’t been for a while. It takes him longer to get up and moving in the winter, and then in the spring, and before long, it’s almost every morning. He takes to sleeping on the floor rather than trying to jump into the bed, and last time Herc tried to pick up him, the yelp of pain about broke his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do I Go Home Today?

In his heart, Herc has known this was coming. Max isn’t a young dog anymore, hasn’t been for a while. It takes him longer to get up and moving in the winter, and then in the spring, and before long, it’s almost every morning. He takes to sleeping on the floor rather than trying to jump into the bed, and last time Herc tried to pick up him, the yelp of pain about broke his heart. He still looked good, muzzle as white as it had been when they first brought him home, but Herc often meandered places now, Max trotting along as quickly as he could, wheezing and shaking before he’d give in and sit for a few minutes, panting. He’s tried leaving him with Mako and Raleigh, or hiring a dogsitter, or even letting Newt keep an eye on him down in the warmer K-Science labs, but the look of hurt disappointment and anxiety in his little eyes wasn’t worth it. It was irrational, but he could almost hear “Will you come back, OldMan? Are you going to leave forever like Dad did?” 

He still perks at footsteps walking past at night, if they’re loud enough to hear. And he still plods along to the bay Striker sat in for those few precious days if he’s anywhere near there. 

The first morning that Max tries to stand up and falls again is heart-wrenching, and Herc tries his best to pretend nothing has changed, softly coaxes Max up again and down to the green, turning a blind eye as he does his business. There’s a tech down in the K-Science that used to be a vet, and he casually inquires, asks a bit, and later brings Max down, trying not to fret as she hums and murmurs to herself as she gently manipulates joints, palpates his pudgy belly, and shushes Max’s whimpers when it hurts too much. It’s old age. Hearing a bit muffled, eyes a bit dimmer, arthritis settling into joints, and just general age of a dog that’s been through the end of the world and back. 

He full on cries the first time he walks into their room and Max is turning in circles, looking confused, and doesn’t even acknowledge Herc’s voice. He starts tracking, and there’s a lot of bad days, days when Max wakes up in a puddle of his own urine, or he’ll squat in the middle of the office, days when he’ll stare into space for a time before shaking his head and laying down. He starts snapping when someone jostles him awake, and Herc knows. Not that it’s any easier, that bloody dog is his last real connection to Chuck, but he promised his son he’d take care of the mutt, and he will.

He resigns himself to the facts, and talks to the technician, explains the situation, and she walks him through the injections, explains what will happen, and asks again if he's sure he wouldn't rather have her do it instead. He thanks her but no, this is something he needs to do. 

He takes him time though, trying to rationalize, arguing against himself, weighing the good days against the bad. And there are a lot of bad. 

The day that Max just sits on his bed, whimpering and looking right through Herc, he decides that's enough. He digs the syringe out of the nightstand, and coaxes Max up on his lap, where he goes willingly. And just as quickly, sees Herc, and starts wiggling a bit, stump of a tail in a blur from wagging so hard. And Herc's resolve crumbles, dissolving under the wet tongue licking him, and he buries his face in the coarse and thinning fur, breath shaking and uneven. 

He more or less calls in sick today, dresses up Max in one of Chuck's old sweatshirts from when he was young and scrawny, and they walk down along the beach for a bit, Max pausing often to catch his breath, rest his hips and sniff the odd smells. Herc has him on the leash again, easier to gently tug him along when his mind leaves him, and they spend the day quiet, trying hard to ignore the fact the morning will bring the anniversary of the Breach closing, another year that Chuck has been absent from their lives, a still gaping wound. 

The next morning, he finds Max still and cold in the nest of blankets on the floor. He calls up the technician, who wastes no time coming up, or maybe she does, it's hard to tell. He just sits and waits, petting the still body, until the knock jars him aware, and he rasps for her to enter. It only takes a moment for her to confirm what he already knows, that Max is gone, and she quietly asks what he wants to do. He fumbles with the collar buckle, not sure why everything’s so blurry, and stands to rummage in the box under the bed, pulling out Chuck's favorite shirt, the one that Max would often hide, god, they played tug with it so often, Chuck growling almost as loud as Max, and gently wraps him up in it before he carefully hands him over, jaw trembling as he tells her to cremate him, bring the ashes back. He wants to put them in the ocean, let Max finally rest with his daddy, now that the dog has finally stopped waiting for him to return and went to get him.


End file.
